Journey Beyond Survival

By Distressed Jewell What is the difference between chess and satire? Perhaps the difference between yoga and kickboxing? Such differences seem extreme at the beginning, yet can be easily mistaken for each other when the lines are blurred. Intuition is born from introspection whereas Emotion is born from reflection I've been exploring intuitive eating, and found that I cannot hear what my body wants for all the emotional constipation I've got going on disguised as cravings.  So I decided to listen. For my emotions, I've been trying to clap out a few eclectic lines whenever I feel the urge to eat.  Especially when it gets all consuming and I feel compelled.  You know.  The kind when I feel like I might tear my hair out, scream, and claw desperately at the walls unless I have some cake. I realize that some of you may-like I-be under the impression that this is normal. Actually, I've found quite ecstatically that it is not.  When this happens and my c...

For my sister with special needs:  the coolest educational app ever . Don't you think that this spells  Hidden Magic  for kids?  Sprout would love this. I'm so proud that I took the kids alone for a hike.  There are plenty of trails around to share. This makes me want to go  Back to Stockholm , but in fact this couple is out of Texas. I'm sure if I did more of these projects I'd feel less like throttling the kids at the end of the day. I want to hug this mom . Maybe, if we're insanely lucky, our service dog will also learn tricks to help ME ! Stumbled across anything lately? Thanks to Design Mom for letting me stalk you on Stumble.  I'd forgotten about some of these links until I stumbled across them again!

ruin is a gift. ruin leads you on the path to transformation. -eat, pray, love. So, after I last wrote I have been mulling things over a lot. My mother accused me of putting myself last when I called her. We're wanting to go to North Carolina for Spring Break. But, the van needs work, Chickadee has a pre-op appointment for her tonsils and adenoids, and my prescription is out. I held back that last bit, knowing she wouldn't approve. I'm going to take care of it. I'm never going off it. I know that she had to drop everything and run to watch my kids when I was hospitalized. I understand where she's coming from. But it isn't true. And I told her so, for the first time in the moment. I bought myself bigger pants last week so I can still feel confident and a little sassy. I have clocked in 86 miles this year already. Including missing almost 6 weeks due to Chickadee's illness. Just to help me take care of myself. I write on this blog so much. ...

photo by ardent eye I gotta admit. I'm struggling. This emotional eating thing is horrific. I know that it sounds like it's this enlightening nirvana experience that would make me shudder to think about. Definitely sounded easier though. Definitely. When I think about what I'm eating, I enjoy it. I love it. I love to eat. I won't go into a long rhapsodizing soliloquy, because I find that harmful. To others. And to me if I ever read this again. Food is good. It is not the enemy. It is wonderful. When appropriately used, in a proportionally appropriate piece of our lives. Absent a million rules. Easy, no? Yes. If I'm not trying to avoid something. I am. I'm running frantically running away. What is it? I'm running away from emotions. I am scared to death of it. Yes, I am completely aware that scared is an emotion. My hands are nervously twitching just thinking about it. Emotions. That is what led me into this whole mess....

How many kinds of milk are in your fridge? Answer here

In my culture there is a parable that has been told to me since before I remember them telling it to me. It is the sort of thing that is embedded under my skin. A part of my mind and heart.  I planted some seeds this very weekend. This time the parable struck me differently. Parable of the Sower Seeds fallen by the way side = wholly unprepared. Stony places = no depth thorns = crowded out good ground = varied results The “Ah-ha” moment was that this can apply to any decision I am committing to. There were four kinds of ground, or earth that the seeds were cast onto in the parable. The first was the seeds that fell by the wayside. These were accidents, like hearing an idea by chance. It’s not likely that I am going to commit to a decision that just flits across my life. If I’m not prepared for the idea, and I have not prepared my life to accommodate the decision, it is going to be about as productive as leaving seeds on open, grassy ground to be eaten by the birds. ...

Buying a computer is like a relationship, right? I mean, we Survivals scope it out. We learn as much as we can so we’re not incompetent when the big day comes. We save up our pennies. It always seems so blissful at first. The honeymoon has been long and sweet. Even after Mr. Survival rejected my current laptop, I eagerly claimed it as my own. It wasn’t that broken. I was sure I could love it better than he did. So he swooped down upon a lovely new model and I savored having my own private place to create thoughts that come to life. But now. Oh my friends, now it is a hot and emotionally messy place to be. Come on over and join me at The Peanut Gallery Speaks today and read the rest.

Wuwst day evuh. That was Sprout. MissTHANG agreed. He mouthed off to his teacher. She got warts burned off. He got to write an apology, lost his bike and has guinea pig poop duty for a week. She got to have Daddy snuggle with her until she fell asleep. {Did you know they sell home kits ?} Mr. Survival doesn't know that she doesn't really like to snuggle when she falls asleep, but I suppose that the trauma probably changed her mind. I know it does mine. Poor family. Mr. Survival and I went over finances for our date. Not recommended. We didn't fight, thank goodness. But, we did get a very real picture of the impending doom. Secretly, we kind of agreed over our children's heads. Except not quite the ever part. What is your worst day ever? Photo Credit

You know what makes me happy in the waning days of winter? Dirt. No, really. Not the smutty magazine kind of dirt. No. The dirt that gets on your hands and leaves behind dryness and chaffing. I love the way so much dark and dank can create such a wonderful vibrance out of air, sun, and water. Makes me want to dance. I actually do clap my hands and exclaim over every new sprout. Mr. Survival chuckles and shakes his head. He has learned when he sees my gardening tools all piled up on my kitchen table, that he should leave me alone.  I play with the dirt, mixing in all the right things for each different plant to grow.  It's so relaxing to me. Then I bask.  I put them in the sun.  I giggle over their leaves getting happy as their roots feel new sustenance and allow them to expand.  It's rejuvenating.  It's enlightening. Puts faith and hope into a whole new perspective as I wait for Spring.  Each little thing I do to get ready the future...

I hope y'all don't mind. I've saved the juicy emotional eating posts for Tuesdays. It doesn't start with the same letter or anything, it's just a day that I feel like I can manage an intelligent post and put some real thought into it. So...yeah. That leaves us here on autopilot Wednesday. He he he. Oh. You're still here? Well, I did have something I wanted to tell you about. Because it makes me feel all super organized and pampered. What is this magical solution? So glad you asked! The secret is: I ask for help. You've tried that? Are you sure? Yes, come to think of it, I have too. But I am finally at a place where I'm willing to accept how people choose to help. No. I'm not saying that I used to throw things back at people or anything. Believe it or not, I am quite docile in public. I also am very appreciative, I just prefer to do it myself. Of course. Doesn't everyone? But. I just can't do it. I can...

Why is it that the Biggest Loser contestants are so inspiring? It could be their phenomenal weight loss.  It is definitely part of it. But right now, this moment I am looking at something else. It isn’t their strictness to diet, nor their ferocious proclamations that, “I’M A FIGHTER!” that inspires me. It’s their discipline. Their devotion to their health. Not in a boot camp kind of way. That’s not where I am right now. I am tired of yelling at myself. Of hating who I am now, loving and accepting only one possible me in the future, and hating the me from the past. That is toxic. I am looking for a  kind of zen way.  The discipline it takes to nurture a seedling out of it's prison shell and help it thrive into a harvestable garden.  Or when you see a group of people practicing Tai Chi  perfectly in sync.  Quiet, unassuming, but powerful.  Sustainable.  Beneficial. When I started this whole gig last year, I think I had a simplistic...

Truly, I am thinking of you. But, you see, I've just won the lottery! Or at least it feels that way The hospital ileus gave me the momentum I needed to sift through all the insurance red tape. Chickadee now has physical therapy. She's had three sessions now. Twice a week. Then she is really really sore and needs mommy to hold her. But I'm happy to oblige: she has rolled over, moved down her bed 3' at night, and loooooves her stretches! Sad to say, this has really cut into my writing time. In fact, I'm texting this from my phone while holding her. Would you believe? I'm loving every minute!

Yesterday was all about money. Money, money, money, money. It started in the morning.  I went out to get the mail after a night of very little sleep.  (Chickadee is on one  of her  many sleep  deprivation benders )  There were bills. I came inside and sorted it through.  Chickadee's hospital bill ringing in at over $18,000.  Wow.  Thank goodness for insurance, and the $5,000 deductible already being met.  Who'd have thought that I'd be grateful for all that expensive testing, eh? Next I saw the receipt on the table from Chickadee's delivery service the night before.  The Medical Supplies deliveries.  It's the first time delivered since she's had the pump supplies.  Guess what.  It now costs $1,800 a month to feed my child.  Holy woah wow.  Thank goodness for medical necessity, and insurance. Then I opened a letter from my insurance.  They're increasing our premiums.  For now i...

Monday: Chickadee stares at Mommy to say, "is this ALL we're doing today?" rolls eyes. Tuesday: Chickadee uses stander @ school while I go grocery shopping. There were tantrums from both later. Wednesday: First day of private insurance paid physical therapy. More tantrums and headaches from headaches, bodyaches, and hoping everything works out. Thursday: Chickadee goes to school while I go to the dentist. Riots to follow. Please be advised.

Sometimes things can be pointy in life.  Quite pokey in fact.  With thorns. Wandering about looking at other peoples' fluffy chicks and floppy puppy ears makes it worse. These people have nothing but weird looks for small pointy triangles. So, life goes on.  People get perfectly groomed lawns to go with their floppy puppies and docile hens that never make noise.  Sometimes while everyone else gets perkier, life only accumulates more of the same pointyness. It's nothing personal.  Just mathematics.  Or genetics.  Or the order forming out of chaos. After a time, it becomes futile to question why.  It makes more sense to not tell people that the last time a silver lining was looked for it seemed to be made of slime.  People like their euphemism to work, allowing them to exit the scene without contracting any thorns, slime or pokes. So, it's better to jut let them.  Let them go back to the things that they have, away from the thi...

One more link up for the week.  Please follow over to support Laurie today: http://www.peanutgalleryspeaks.com/?p=1940  Thank you!

Two days ago, something happened that I didn't know I'd been waiting for.  I opened three envelopes.  Two from our insurance, and one from Chickadee's secondary support insurance for kids with special needs.  It's supplemental provided by the state, and without it this family would've gone bankrupt within a year of her diagnosis.  I am so grateful for that insurance.  Thanks to everyone for paying taxes, and I've never felt happier to pay ours. When I saw what they held, I let out a breath I hadn't felt myself holding for two weeks.  The first was the supplemental insurance saying Chickadee's hospital stay was covered.  The second was our primary insurance saying that Chickadee's hospital stay was under review and in all likelihood would be approved. I felt a wave of relief I was completely unprepared for.  It seems that I do this all the time.  I go into preservation mode during a crisis.  I've always been used to thinking I will 'c...

I'm recovering from a birthday celebration for the Sprout yesterday. But, I just read the most hilarious post .  I'm filled with sympathy.

A) Women getting older become more likable. B) Acknowledging desires creates truth and honesty. C) Women like themselves more while aging. D) Women are ninnies for eternity. No call backs. E) Women getting older let their faults fly in the open. F) All of the above. G) None of the above. They are all true. Yes, even the last one. I don't know how it is, but I do know it is true. As I am re-hydrating my stressed out life like a raisin in warm water, I watch cares and worries come back into my sphere. Stress is a funny thing. If the chemicals are working properly in my brain (let's be honest here, we all know this isn't always the case) then I can feel my cares ebb and flow with the tides of crises and mellow. When something really big washes ashore, the tide of usual cares seems to take an extra long time to come back. Perhaps it is that the smaller cares fail to arrest my attention. They are, after all still lapping about my feet as I examine ...